Chapter 12.2

Once hailed for his exceptional talent, Del Gilbert had been invited to the palace nearly every week by Emperor Edmund himself.

He was the first to ever teach Portia how to play the piano.

‘He’s aged so much.’

The man she remembered from childhood had been taller, broad-shouldered, with long jet-black hair.

Now, his silver-streaked hair was slicked back with wax, and though his frame had slimmed down, his belly jutted out slightly. The neatly trimmed beard under his chin reflected all the years he’d lived.

A soft thum… filled the air as the first key was pressed, and a graceful melody followed. The entire crowd held its breath.

He played with a delicate, almost reverent touch, then captured every ear with unexpected, shifting rhythms.

“I didn’t know you liked the piano.”

Johan sat down beside Esha, speaking in a low voice. She flinched in surprise, her shoulders tensing.

“Weren’t you off having some boring man talk with the other gentlemen?”

“It’s over. Are you jealous?”

“No. Why would I be?”

“Your tone got rather sharp, that’s all.”

“…”

Esha shut her mouth. Her eyes stayed fixed on Gilbert’s fingers, even though she could feel Johan’s gaze resting on her.

Since Johan’s dreadful proposal, she had prepared the wedding on her own. During that time, he visited her once a day, more so out of obligation than affection. They shared meals, tea, and brief moments that made them appear as if they had returned to how things once were.

But every so often, Esha would remind herself that somewhere along the way, they had taken different paths.

“…It’s starting,” she whispered.

Despite being a solo performance, the music was grand.

It danced sweetly like a spring breeze, only to crash down like a summer monsoon. Each transition between notes was seamless, without a single breath of space.

Esha’s lashes trembled ever so slightly. She seemed lost in a memory. Perhaps, like this sonata, all the ups and downs between her and Johan would one day come together as a single, complete song. As the music played, a small hope quietly stirred inside her.

Johan placed his hand gently over hers. The feel of his ring against her skin sent a strange ripple through her.

“Johan,” she began.

The moment Esha spoke, the fountain burst to life behind them. A flourish to mark the finale of the performance.

Crystal arcs of water curled into the air, spiraling gracefully through the sky.

When Gilbert stood to bow, the seated guests all rose as one, filling the garden with applause.

“My hands don’t have the strength they used to,” Gilbert said with a soft laugh. “But it’s an honor to perform at such a beautiful wedding.”

When his eyes met Esha’s, she offered him a small, polite smile.

[I do not teach anyone who isn’t a genius. I am sorry, Your Highness.]

She suddenly remembered those words from long ago. Watching Portia take piano lessons had made young Esha so envious that she’d chased after Gilbert as he was leaving the palace, begging him to teach her as well.

It was the first time she realized that even a princess could not have everything.

Some things required talent.

“You don’t seem to like him very much.”

“Not particularly,” Esha replied.

She summoned a servant and commanded them to bring her a glass of wine.

“That pianist you told me about a long time ago, was it him?” Johan asked.

“Yes.”

Johan searched his memory.

It was the same man she had spoken about in the carriage after they’d returned from an orchestra performance when they were children.

“Then why did you invite him?”

Esha waited a moment before answering. Gilbert stood near the piano, chatting with a group of nobles.

“I may not have any talent, but I wanted to prove that I have enough influence to summon a retired pianist to the palace with a single invitation. Just wanted to remind myself of that…”

She accepted the glass of wine the servant brought. One sip scorched down her throat like fire.

“A political choice, then.”

“Do you dislike me for it?”

“I understand now that your position leaves little room for anything else. This is no longer a matter of like or dislike.”

“You’ve grown up, Johan.”

“…Yet you still see me as a child.”

Esha looked up at her fiancé—no, her husband, who now towered over her.

That old feeling of intimacy, of knowing him inside and out, was gone. But they were husband and wife now.

She truly hoped that the moments she would share with Johan from now on would ultimately come together as one beautiful score.

“How could I? You’re my husband.”